


Impressions

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Alternate Universe, Ficlet, First Meetings, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:35:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26111980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Jim joined the exchange program; Spock says hi.
Relationships: James T. Kirk/Spock
Comments: 30
Kudos: 223





	Impressions

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Jim knows a _tiny_ bit about Vulcan—probably more than Vulcan will know about him; he has the full breadth of the Federation database behind him. His choice of planet and people were numerous, and he’s the only one of his classmates that chose Vulcan—most went for lush worlds with plenty of tropical beaches, rather than a stuffy desert planet with no moons and no night life. For once, Jim’s not looking to score—his studies are more important to him than most give him credit for, and he’s determined to ace the Academy with flying colours. Acceptance to the cultural exchange program is just one more accomplishment towards that goal. He watches the orange sands blow by beneath his shuttle, nose nearly pressed against the glass, and thinks he can see the smell speck of a lumbering herd racing against the oncoming wind. He’s always been curious about _wild worlds_ —places so unique, so exotic, so very _different_ from Earth. It’s thrilling to feel the shuttle finally set down amidst the jagged rocks of a shallow mountain valley. He knows there’s a town nearby, but one not so prepared for the immense disruption of an alien craft. One cadet will be all, for now. Jim’s just arrived, and already can’t wait to make his report.

When he walks by the cabin, the Grazerite pilot rumbles, “Good luck,” even though Grazerites don’t typically believe in such things. Jim doesn’t either. He makes his own luck. He smiles at her as he disembarks, one padd strapped to one hip and tricorder at the other, a humble personal supply bag strung over his shoulder. He doesn’t care how unexplored or uninhabitable this new worlds is; he has no doubt he’ll do just fine.

He steps out into the sweltering heat, made worse by the full coverage of his uniform, and a tiny sliver of doubt wriggles into him—he should’ve listened to his mother’s last transmission and packed sun screen. At least the uniform comes with a hat that keeps some of the bright light out of his eyes. The rest reflects off the rocky terrain and nearly blinds him. 

He can see his guide standing not far away, obscured through distance and heat, no more than a blurry upright figure. According to early Starfleet scouts, the Vulcans are a highly advanced species that may eventually join the Federation. They also look quite a bit like humans, except act ‘considerably more uptight,’ as the first report put it, and they’re not a fan of touching. Jim thinks he has their basic greeting down—one raised hand with parted fingers. The computer couldn’t give him much else, but it’ll be able to give future applicants a much better idea, because Jim’s fully prepared to dive into the Vulcan culture like a Tellarite in a mud bath. Maybe it should scare him, being the sole human on an all but undiscovered world, but every step he takes towards his guide only bolsters his excitement.

By the time he’s close enough to see just how unexpectedly _cute_ that guide is, Jim’s walking on clouds. The man looks about Jim’s age, slender and tall, pale-skinned with pointed ears poking out from a sleek black bowl-cut. His eyebrows are slightly more arched than the human variety, his eyes a tad darker and his eyelids a tinge green, but otherwise, he would fit right in on Earth. He’s dressed in a simple blue tunic just strange enough to be interesting.

Jim means to stop an arm’s length away, because the computer vaguely alluded to personal boundaries, but he finds his feet don’t listen to him until he’s toe-to-toe with the alien. Jim smiles wide in greeting and wonders if he’s just light headed from the heat, or because this is the start of something _wonderful_.

He lifts one hand and stretches all his fingers apart, blurting, “Cadet James Kirk of Starfleet Academy, but you can call me ‘Jim’. Live life and propagate.” It’s his best approximation of a Vulcan greeting, based on incredibly limited data, and if the Vulcan’s face is anything to go by, that data’s even more incomplete than he thought. Either Vulcan expressions are vastly different from human ones, or his guide is both pained and confused. 

The guide hesitates, then returns, “I am Spock of the Vulcan Science Academy.” He abruptly thrusts his hand out, just held there and hovering, while he awkwardly concludes, “How are you doing.”

It doesn’t sound like a question. Jim takes it for one. Surprised but relieved, he slaps his hand against Spock’s, meaning to just do a quick shake and let go, but Spock’s long fingers quickly slot between his own, wrapping tightly around him. Instead of a swift jaunt up and down, Spock uses the firm grip to tug Jim forward. Jim fucks up and starts saying, “Better, now that you’re he—” but he cuts off when Spock tilts in to brush their cheeks together.

Electricity slithers under Jim’s skin, sending a rapt shiver throughout his entire body. Spock nuzzles at the side of his face, nose digging in just beneath his ear, lips ghosting across his jaw, warm breath tickling the short brown hairs on the side of his neck. Something wet and spongy darts out to swipe over him, and Jim shudders almost violently, lashes fluttering down as a surge of curiosity and hospitality courses through him.

When Spock slowly pulls back, he’s still holding Jim’s hand, and Jim can still feel that tantalizing bond so much deeper than flesh and bone. He doesn’t understand what’s happening. Spock opens and closes his mouth several times, unfinished thoughts skittering at the edges of Jim’s mind, before Spock finally says, “Forgive me. I am aware humans are a highly emotional and tactile species that easily take offence when their intimate practices are rejected, but I am simply not comfortable with kissing you quite yet. I hope my efforts to ‘meet you halfway’ will be enough to satisfy you.”

Jim stares at Spock for a few bizarre seconds. Neither of them lets go of where their hands are touching. Spock’s palm is the softest thing Jim’s ever felt, even though his planet seems so environmentally abrasive. Eventually, Jim manages to say, “You got some _very_ bad intel, my friend.” 

Spock’s dark brows draw together. Jim fights the urge to grin and explains as diplomatically as possible, “We’re definitely emotional, and I’m pretty tactile... but we don’t tend to kiss people who haven’t bought us dinner first. I think you might be confusing the rest of that greeting with Terran dogs rather than Terran people. And I was totally prepared to not touch you at all for my entire stay.”

Spock’s eyes go minutely wide around the edges before the reaction’s quickly stifled. His frown twitches. He says almost defensively, “I was merely acting on the instructions given to me by our top—”

“Your instructions stink.”

So much for being diplomatic. Spock falls quiet, eyes dropping slowly to wear their hands are still tightly clasped. Then he pulls away as though burned, though that simple touch was the most pleasant thing Jim’s ever felt in his entire life. Spock’s high cheekbones dust a pale green, and if Jim didn’t know any better, he’d think Spock was trying very hard to hold that reaction back. Spock stiffly concludes, “I have embarrassed myself. I apologize again. I assure you, I had no intentions of sabotaging a nearly first-contact situation—”

Jim waves his hand and insists right over top of the spiel, “You didn’t sabotage anything— _I_ was totally into it. ’Just figured I should let you know for the next time you meet a human.”

“Into it,” Spock bluntly repeats, clearly not understanding the phrase. The universal translator can only do so much.

“Let’s just say I was hoping to buy you dinner once we get back to your campus, although I promise, still no kisses required.” He can’t help but add with a wink, “Not that they’re discouraged.”

Spock answers his wink with a look of concern and: “Have you suffered optical damage?”

Jim just grins, because that’s more the kind of cultural misunderstandings he was expecting. His cheek is still slightly damp where Spock licked him, but the desert heat is quickly taking care of that. Jim can’t help but wonder just who told the Vulcans that all humans had an oral fixation. Maybe Vulcans have a particularly potent alcohol or something and don’t understand the difference between a diplomat’s formal information and the informal ramblings of a tipsy human presented with an overtly attractive species. Assuming every Vulcan’s as hot as Spock, Jim’s in for a treat.

When Jim doesn’t explain the wink further, Spock accedes, “We are within walking distance of my campus. I was hoping the walk would allow time for me to prepare you for the next few months. I see now I will have to acclimate myself with your ways as well.”

He turns, nodding to the left, which looks just as barren as the right and everywhere else. Jim agreeably falls in to step as Spock starts moving. “Does that mean you’ll be around for most of my stay?”

Spock falters before slowly answering, “I have the option to allocate the duty to another if this cultural experiment detracts from my other studies. However... I believe I could allow you to ‘buy me dinner’... purely for my own research into human behaviour, of course.”

“Of course,” Jim amiably agrees. But his hand brushes the back of Spock’s knuckles as they walk, and even that miniscule contact is enough to tell him that ‘research’ has very little to do with it. 

Right then and there, as he looks at his Vulcan counterpart, silhouetted in the glorious sun of Vulcan, Jim knows that he’s going to have a _very_ good stay indeed.


End file.
